Horizon Ridge shadow runner

The older man’s intentions are made clear even before the tundrian watches as the swarthy man prowls closer. There is a lift to the dark man’s muzzle — not a gesture lost upon the lion boy soturi — but it is a long moment before Drogon reacts beyond the unwavering stare at the fiery eyes that bore into him. His tail flicks against his hocks and he dips his head — not necessarily in submission but in acknowledgment and neutrality that he understands this territory will soon belong to this male. The tundrian might have been too close to savage for comfort but he was far from unintelligent. He knows that getting into a brawl would be a stupid move especially when he’s got no stake in Ravensblood. He will not bow because he is a free man, disassociated with any pack and refuses to bend the knee to any hierarchy that he isn’t apart of; but he can and will be respectful. It’s not as if he intended on staying, anyway. He’d gotten a meal and shelter, but thinks he might head Northeast to explore what the coast had to offer beyond the Cerulean Cape.

Idly, Drogon wonders if this male will have better luck than Cascada had with her intention to claim Nova Peak — though he is partially to blame, he suspects, for insulting Sunspot. Despite that Drogon is sure that if he wishes to leave that the swarthy man would let him go the tundrian moves a bit away from where he imagines the borders will be, taking him further into the neutral ground of the Ridge but he doesn’t depart. “What sort of pack are you seeking to build?” The tundrian inquires, deciding that it couldn’t hurt to ask. He hasn’t decided yet what he’ll do, where he’ll go ( other than he knows he’ll be staying clear of Blackfeather Woods ) and there may be a possibility if Dragon can match what the older man is looking for; and likewise if this foundling pack might suit him as well.